The Adventure of the Foreign Locality
by RomancingStone
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are caught up in a case that involves a murder, a priceless jewel, a china-man, and even Holmes' younger sister! This story is written in the style of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and is meant to fit in with the other canonical works that DEFINE Sherlock Holmes, and the fictional London that fascinates any historian, or Holmes' fan...
1. A Reprint of the Recollections

**The Adventure of the Foreign Locality**

**Chapter 1** **–** A reprint of the recollections of Dr. John H. Watson

IT WAS within the late spring when this singular case was, rather abruptly thrust upon Holmes and myself. As I do recall, a thunderstorm had cloaked the city all day, and, even by six p.m., hadn't cleared. If anything, it had actually gotten heaver, as the rumble of distant thunder had just started to occur. However, the pitter-patter of rain upon the windows was soothing, and had myself constantly glancing at the wall clock, reassuring myself that the evening had not yet arrived.

Sherlock Holmes was standing at the large window, looking down upon the cobblestone street. He often assumed this position, usually to watch for expected company, or smoke his antique pipe. The latter of the two was the case, tonight, as he snatched the box of matches from atop the fireplace. However, turning the box over, upon its top, not a single match fell out. As I was reading through the daily post, however, it came as a shock to me when he spoke, breaking the rather quiet atmosphere of the room.

"Someone has taken our matches," he stated, in his somewhat high, strident voice.

"I doubt that, Holmes. You must have used the last one up."

"That is highly unlikely, Watson. I think that someone else has tampered with them."

"There's no reason to be so sure that someone else is involved."

"I am not suggesting that an unknown source has committed this act. I already know who has done this."

"Well," I responded, demanding an answer. "Now, I must know!"

"Though the blame could be placed upon three people, it is you, Watson, who I place blame upon."

I simply could not stand for this accusation. "Holmes, how can you possibly!"

"It was a rather elementary deduction, my friend. My first point of notice: the dust patterns upon the top of the fireplace. "As you see," he said as he demonstrated, "when I retrieve the matchbox, I place my index finger, and thumb upon the edges, and lift directly upwards. However, the dust around the matchbox suggests that this individual used his middle finger, along with the index finger, and thumb!"

"How does that implicate me?" I asked.

Holmes placed his pipe down, upon his sitting-table, and walked over to the small table, next to me. "As you can see here, Watson, the dust around your reading glasses shows three fingers being used, instead of two. I can thus assume that you handle small objects with three fingers, a trait that differs between us."

"You do have a good point, however, I am not totally convinced."

"The second point of notice: was just under my nose." He said, going back to the place where he had been standing before. "As not a single match fell out, I happened to look upon the ground. Within the crevice between the brick and the carpet is a lone match. I know by the logic of physics, that the chances of a match falling into that exact place, is near impossible. Thus, I can deduce that our landlady, Mrs. Hudson, had recently swept the floors. You, as well as I, know that her eyesight is less then average. So, in conclusion, I can assume that you offered a guest a match, as you don't smoke. In replacing the matchbox, you placed it closer to the edge of the fireplace. In the end, Mrs. Hudson bumped the fireplace, knocking the matchbox upon the floor. It was then, in the middle of her sweeping, she discovered her mistake, and, thinking that more matches were still in the box, she replaced it, and discarded the other matches."

"Your account is only partially correct, Holmes. I had NOT offered a guest a match, nor did I ever touch the matchbox."

"In a slight permutation to my theory, I can assume that Mrs. Hudson was cleaning up the room earlier today, at a time when a dark cloud blocked the sun. She, then, used a match to light a candle… And, most likely dropped the matchbox upon the floor, and, as I had previously stated, she discarded of the matches."

"Well, Holmes, I must say that you have solved the mystery!" I replied, in a joking way. "Now I'll leave you to your smoke."

"To the contrary," replied Holmes, emptying the tobacco from his pipe, "My mind is already stimulated."

"Ironic" I chuckled, "in attempting to obtain stimulation, you were distracted by another form of stimulation."

"I'd converse with you more, Watson," he responded, fixed on something upon the street below, "However, I think that we may have a guest. And, with their brisk walk, and hurried nature, I can assume that we may have a case upon our hands..."


	2. The Strange Guest

**Chapter 2 –** The Strange Guest

Holmes was up to his usual methods of deduction, listening intently at the door. Though he disputes my acclaim of his reasoning powers, I would stake my reputation that he could deduce the identity of someone just by listening to them in the next room, as he was now.

"A woman," he started, "light footsteps with a faint 'clacking' sound. Obviously some form of high-heeled footwear. I might also add that she is wearing a long dress."

"How can you possibly deduce that, Holmes?" I asked in complete shock that he could guess something that he could neither see nor hear.

"She stopped for a moment, at the top step, before continuing towards our door. And, as you know," he said just as she started to knock, "from measuring the steps, I know that the top step is slightly higher then the others. Thus, I deduce that she stepped on the hem of her dress, and had to change her footing, as to not rip the fabric."

I nodded as Holmes opened the door. And, as I had predicted, he was correct in his account. However, he was wrong on one point, her dress. It wasn't long, but rather short, a newer fashion. Something must have thrown Holmes off. In looking at her handbag, opened with random objects sticking out in an un-orderly fashion, I assumed that she must have dropped it, and paused to pick it up before reaching our door. Thus, Holmes was right; she had stopped before reaching our door.

Walking in, it was apparent that she was soaking wet. Holmes took her coat and placed it on the fireplace mantle. I, standing from my chair, offered it to her, as so she could warm by the fire. Sitting on the couch opposite her, I watched as Holmes started to speak.

"Good-evening, Madame. I do so wonder why you didn't call upon me, instead deciding to walk all the way here."

"H-how did you know that," she said, with an obviously American accent.

"You are soaking wet, and have neither a chaperone nor an umbrella. Any woman roaming the streets of London in the late hours of the evening is either a prostitute or a foreigner. And, with your fine dress and concealed knife in your shoe, I can assume that you are American. Thus, you are the latter of the two."

"Well, I sure am glad that I wasn't mistaken as a…"

"There's also assassin, however, they usually try to enter my apartment in a more discrete manner," Interrupted Holmes, trying to go off of that subject.

"Now I'm sure you're just the men I'm looking for… My story is not too important to the subject, so, all you need to know is that I need you for a job. However I cannot reveal the time or location in which you are needed."

"I cannot understand, Miss…"

"Reed," she responded

"Miss Reed… Why would we accept such a situation which would leave us most vulnerable."

"It's a painting, a forgery, to be exact. However, it's_ meant_ to draw attention to itself. You see, the original painting was rumored to conceal a fine gemstone inside of it, however, we had found such a gem on the estate of the artist in question. Apparently, his last wishes were to place the diamond inside the painting. His son was the man asked to do it; however, he was murdered three months ago, before he could even do it. Thus, this forgery carries the diamond inside of it. We just want to see if we can catch the murderer, as we suspect that he's looking for the jewel."

"We?" I asked, wondering if she had misspoke.

"Yes, well, now that I've told you the case, I might as well tell you who I am." She responded, standing up, and opening her purse. "I am Detective Julia Reed. I'm here on behalf of the American government. And, though I have been reassured that the shipment is safe, I had a feeling that something would not go as planned. You see, I think that the man was killed by an assassin, working for an underground society in London. No one believes me; however, having read some of your books, I thought that they might have been from England."

Holmes stood silent, taking in all of her information. Grabbing his pipe, I could tell that he was thinking of exactly what to say. Finally, striking a match, he began to clarify things with her…


	3. Surmises

**Chapter 3 -** Surmises

"You are a detective," Holmes started, standing by the fire, "sent here, from America, on a fake-mission: planning on trapping a murderer. However, you have reason to believe that there may be more to this, rather odd situation, and would appreciate assistance. From what you have said, I can also reason that you are the only one who believes this fact, and, as many do, confronted Scotland Yard. It is most obvious that you were not taken as seriously as thought you had been, and now am asking for my help? Or are you here just to have a witness, in the case that you are somehow killed!"

"Like I said," she responded in a slightly angered tone, "I just want back up…"

"You have nothing more to tell me?"

"Nothing," she responded, her accent coming out again.

"Nothing in the slightest? If you have indeed read some of Dr. Watson's dialogues, then you should be aware that I often look at even the slightest, most seemingly unrelated, facts into account… Anything more you can share?"

"Now that you say that, I can give one more assumption of mine. I'll warn you, however, it's a little racist."

"Any assumption you make, especially against any particular ethnicity, could only be of help, as my unbiased mind may uncover something you had not thought of, within the fact itself."

"Alright, then," she responded, sitting straighter in the chair, "I have a feeling that the killer, or at least an accomplice of his, may have been a chinaman."

"Could you please explain how you reached this assumption?"

"I think," she responded, looking through her purse, "It's that, a small box had been left behind, on the recently deceased's desk. When we had arrived, myself first, he was alive. But just barely. He asked me to take the box, upon his work-desk, and conceal it for the safety of a friend. It contained Opium."

"Great Scott," I jolted, taking the comment to be rather racist, without good reasoning.

"The box, if I may continue, doctor," she continued, "had Chinese lettering upon it." Taking it out of her purse, she added, "I know, as I learned the language while working on a previous case, involving a Chinese family hanging. You can trust my judgement."

"Well," I responded, "If you say you are sure, I can only believe what you have to say."

"I'm sorry to say, my dear," Holmes started, stating his own point, "I cannot wholly trust you recollections until I have more evidence. Surely you can understand."

"I do," she responded, "being a detective myself. I'm sure my tale sounds absurd, and, I wouldn't be the kind of person you would immediately trust."

It appeared as if she was about to respond to his statement, however, gazing at our wall-clock, she said "I must be off gentlemen… I think that I was being trailed earlier. I thought that I had lost them ages ago, however, if they are native to this area, they may suspect that I gave you a visit. Staying here any longer would only give them more time to assume my location."

"I thank you for relating that information, Madame," he responded, opening the door for her, "However, do take this cane of mine… Don't worry, I have others."

"Why do you want me to have this? It have some sort of tracker in it?"

"No, I'm afraid," he responded with a fake chuckle, "I do not have access to such a technology. This cane can be most invaluable in protecting yourself from muggers that may lurk nearby."

"Self-defense you mean?" she laughed, handing it back, "a language wasn't all that I learned from the Chinese."

Holmes finished their goodbyes, and, in quickly shutting the door, turned to me a little anxiously.

"We need to work fast Watson," he quickly muttered, "Help me with my potion vials."

"Why?" I responded, having trouble adjusting to his sudden change in pace.

He took out the Chinese box from his back pocket, "The Chinese taught me a thing or two as well…"

I could only but laugh at his statement. I hadn't expected such a remark from him, when, before I could laugh any more, he corrected my misunderstanding.

"I was referring to the chemical properties of Opium… If we can see this mixture turn purple, then we have discovered more truth in her statements."

"Oh," I breathed, jumping to help him. "If miss Reed is as intelligent as she seemed, she would be back within a few minutes." I added.

Over the course of the next few minutes, we worked with the utmost swiftness…


End file.
